Twenty minutes later he was driving down Storrow Drive, wondering if he had lost his mind.

When the automatic doors slid open and the smell of antiseptic hit him, he nearly turned around.

He had not set foot in a hospital since Adanna died.

The smell alone was a hand around his throat.

But then he remembered the voice — I don’t want to be alone — and he made himself walk to the elevator and press six.

He had not understood, until that moment in the doorway, how completely he had been avoiding these buildings.